Sleeping was impossible that night on board the Agamemnon. Even those in cots were thrown out, from their striking against the vessel’s side as she pitched. The berths of wood fixed athwartships in the cabins on the main deck had worked to pieces. Chairs and tables were broken, chests of drawers capsized, and a little surf{101} was running over the floors of the cabins themselves, pouring miniature seas into portmanteaus, and breaking over carpetbags of clean linen. Fast as it flowed off by the scuppers it came in faster by the hawse-holes and ports, while the beams and knees strained with a doleful noise, as though it was impossible they could hold together much longer, and on the whole it was as miserable and even anxious a night as ever was passed on board any line-of-battle ship in her Majesty’s service. Captain Preedy never left the poop all night, though it was hard work to remain there, even holding on to the poop-rail with both hands. Morning brought no change, save that the storm was as fierce as ever, and though the sea could not be higher or wilder, yet the additional amount of broken water made it still more dangerous to the ship. Very dimly, and only now and then through the thick scud, the Niagara could be seen—one moment on a monstrous hill of water, and the next quite lost to view, as the Agamemnon went down between the waves. But even these glimpses showed us that our transatlantic consort was plunging heavily, shipping seas, and evidently having a bad time of it, though she got through it better than the Agamemnon, as, of course, she could, having only the same load, though 2,000 tons larger. Suddenly it came on darker and thicker, and we lost sight of her in the thick spray, and had only ourselves to look after. This was quite enough, for every minute made matters worse, and the aspect of affairs began to excite most serious misgivings in the minds of those in charge. The Agamemnon is one of the finest line-of-battle ships in the whole navy, but in such a storm, and so heavily overladen, what could she do but make bad weather worse, and strain and labor and fall into the trough of the sea, as if she were going down head foremost. Three or four hours more and the vessel had borne all she could bear with safety. The masts were rapidly getting worse, the deck coil worked more and more with each tremendous plunge, and, even if both these held, it was evident that the ship itself would soon strain to pieces if the weather continued so. The sea,{102} forcing its way through ports and hawse-holes, had accumulated on the lower deck to such an extent that it flooded the stoke-hole, so that the men could scarcely remain at their posts. Everything went smashing and rolling about. One plunge put all the electrical instruments hors de combat at a blow, and staved some barrels of strong solution of sulphate of copper, which went cruising about, turning all it touched to a light pea-green. By and by she began to ship seas. Water came down the ventilators near the funnel into the engine-room.
Then a tremendous sea struck her forward, drenching those on deck, and leaving them up to their knees in water, and the least versed on board could see that things were fast going to the bad unless a change took place in the weather or the condition of the ship. Of the first there seemed little chance. The weather certainly showed no disposition to clear—on the contrary, livid-looking black clouds seemed to be closing round the vessel faster and faster than ever. For the relief of the ship three courses were open to Captain Preedy—one, to wear round and try her on the starboard tack, as he had been compelled to do the day before; another, to fairly run for it before the wind; and, third and last, to endeavor to lighten the vessel by getting some of the cable overboard. Of course the latter would not have been thought of till the first two had been tried and failed—in fact, not till it was evident that nothing else could save the ship. Against wearing round there was the danger of her again falling off into the trough of the sea, losing her masts, shifting her upper-deck coil, and so finding her way to the bottom in ten minutes, while to attempt running before the storm with such a sea on was to risk her stern being stove in, and a hundred tons of water added to her burden with each wave that came up afterward, till the poor Agamemnon went under them all for ever. A little after ten o’clock on Monday, the 21st, the aspect of affairs was so alarming that Captain Preedy resolved at all risks to try wearing the ship round on the other tack. It was hard enough to make the words of command audible, but to execute them seemed almost impossible. The ship{103}’s head went round enough to leave her broadside on to the seas, and then for a time it seemed as if nothing could be done. All the rolls which she had ever given on the previous day seemed mere trifles compared with her performances then. Of more than 200 men on deck, at least 150 were thrown down, and falling over from side to side in heaps, while others, holding on to the ropes, swung to and fro with every heave. It really appeared as if the last hour of the stout ship had come, and to this minute it seems almost miraculous that her masts held on. Each time she fell over her main chains went deep under water. The lower decks were flooded, and those above could hear by the fearful crashing—audible amid the hoarse roar of the storm—that the coals had got loose again below, and had broken into the engine-room, and were carrying all before them. During these rolls the main-deck coil shifted over to such a degree as quite to envelop four men, who, sitting on the top, were trying to wedge it down with beams. One of them was so much jammed by the mass which came over him that he was seriously contused. He had to be removed to the sick-bay, making up the{104} sick-list to forty-five, of which ten were from injuries caused by the rolling of the ship, and very many of the rest from continual fatigue and exposure during the gale. Once round on the starboard tack, and it was seen in an instant that the ship was in no degree relieved by the change. Another heavy sea struck her forward, sweeping clean over the fore part of the vessel and carrying away the woodwork and platforms which had been placed there round the machinery for underrunning. This and a few more plunges were quite sufficient to settle the matter, and at last, reluctantly, Captain Preedy succumbed to the storm he could neither conquer nor contend against. Full steam was got on, and with a foresail and a fore-topsail to lift her head the Agamemnon ran before the storm, rolling and tumbling over the huge waves at a tremendous pace. It was well for all that the wind gave this much way on her, or her stern would infallibly have been stove in. As it was, a wave partly struck her on the starboard quarter, smashing the quarter-galley and ward-room windows on that side, and sending such a sea into the ward-room itself as to literally wash two officers off a sofa on which they were resting on that side of the ship. This was a kind of parting blow; for the glass began to rise, and the storm was evidently beginning to moderate, and although the sea still ran as high as ever there was less broken water, and altogether, toward midday, affairs assumed a better and more cheerful aspect. The ward-room that afternoon was a study for an artist, with its windows halfdarkened and smashed, the sea-water still slushing about in odd corners, with everything that was capable of being broken strewn over the floor in pieces, and some fifteen or twenty officers, seated amid the ruins, holding on to the deck or table with one hand, while with the other they contended at a disadvantage with a tough meal—the first which most had eaten for twenty-four hours. Little sleep had been indulged in though much “lolloping about.” Those, however, who prepared themselves for a night’s rest in their berths rather than at the ocean bottom, had great difficulty in finding their day-garments of a morning. The boots{105} especially went astray, and got so hopelessly mixed that the man who could “show up” with both pairs of his own was, indeed, a man to be congratulated.
But all things have an end, and this long gale—of over a week’s duration—at last blew itself out, and the weary ocean rocked itself to rest.
Throughout the whole of Monday the Agamemnon ran before the wind, which moderated so much that at 4 A.M. on Tuesday her head was again put about, and for the second time she commenced beating up for the rendezvous, then some 200 miles farther from us than when the storm was at its height on Sunday morning. So little was gained against this wind that Friday the 25th—sixteen days after leaving Plymouth—still found us some fifty miles from the rendezvous. So it was determined to get up steam and run down on it at once. As we approached the place of meeting the angry sea went down. The Valorous hove in sight at noon; in the afternoon the Niagara came in from the north; and at even the Gorgon from the south: and then, almost for the first time since starting, the squadron was reunited near the spot where the great work was to have commenced fifteen days previously—as tranquil in the middle of the Atlantic as if in Plymouth Sound.